


Becoming Familiar

by PuddingMcMuffin



Series: Before Earth [2]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender, Young Justice (Cartoon)
Genre: AU, Crack, Crossover, Crossover Pairings, Loss of Limbs, M/M, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-06
Updated: 2016-11-06
Packaged: 2018-08-29 11:45:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8488096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PuddingMcMuffin/pseuds/PuddingMcMuffin
Summary: Zarkon decides to see how far he can push the Ambassador, and Dawur is upset that he needs to come along on his boss's dates as a third wheel.





	

The progress that was made with the Galra/Reach treaty was still going strong, with the combination of Druid magic and Reach tech making the most impressive soldiers Zarkon had ever seen. As such, the Ambassador's fleet had been ordered to stay at the Galra's central command until further notice.

During this time, the Ambassador and Zarkon had been spending an increasing amount of time with each other.

“Seeing the leaders of each side together will be good for both of our people,” the Ambassador had said. “It will be visual proof that things are going well between us.”

“Us?” Zarkon had asked.

The Ambassador looked back to him. “My apologies; between the Galra and the Reach.” He had said it in an apologetic tone, but his smile had been anything but apologetic.

Despite that meeting ending with the way it usually did – with Zarkon keeping silent to hide how flustered he was – it had given the warlord an idea. The next time the two of them met, Zarkon invited the Ambassador to an upcoming gladiatorial match.

Zarkon spent little time out in the general populace, even the majority of soldiers in his military rarely saw him. The only time Zarkon left his armada was to attend the matches. Therefore, it was the only time anyone who wasn't a high-ranking commander or diplomat could see him.

Although the Ambassador had never said anything, he had surely noticed that the only places Zarkon frequented were out of the public eye. So Zarkon hadn't needed to explain the significance of the event when he requested the other man's to accompany him.

The Ambassador had smiled and happily accepted without hesitation.

  
  


\-----

  
  


Unlike the times before when they met, the Ambassador was not alone. As Zarkon met him outside the doors of his private platform at the arena, Zarkon was surprised to see the Reach's Head of Security standing a few feet away. Both he and the Ambassador turned to meet the warlord when he had entered, the Ambassador addressing him with a polite greeting.

The Ambassador noticed Zarkon looking at the other man, and explained “due to the nature of this event, it felt appropriate to bring my enforcer as an escort. As long as it does not offend you, of course.”

“I have no objection,” said Zarkon. “He is welcome.”

“Excellent,” said the Ambassador. The enforcer did not reply, but nodded his head towards the emperor. Overall, he did not seem terribly interested over his inclusion.

The arena was packed with spectators, and actually seemed more full than usual. It likely had to do with the rumors that had spread that the Galra's new partner would be in attendance, and everyone wanted to see what kind of people were able to last so long in a partnership with their emperor.

Murmurs could be heard from the crowd after they had entered and taken their seats. Zarkon could make out various reactions from the sections of those closest to them: gasps of awe, mutterings of disbelief, and a few scoffs of disgust. There was also a group of Galra close to them that Zarkon could see giggling to themselves as they passed over the Ambassador to look at the Head of Security who stood behind him, all of whom squealed when the warrior glanced over at them.

If the Ambassador heard anything that was being said, he didn't acknowledge it. Instead, he looked over to Zarkon.

“And what should I be expecting tonight?” he asked.

“Bloodshed and death in honor of the Galra Empire,” Zarkon replied.

The Ambassador only hummed in response, then leaned back in his seat as the first fighter entered the ring below. The crowd's attention went to the fighter as well, and a roar of applause sounded out as they recognized him.

“Who are we observing?” asked the Ambassador.

“A warrior by the name of Arvaz,” said Zarkon.

Arvaz was tall, though most of the length of his body came from the long, serpentine tail that started just past his waist. The gladiator used the tail to lift himself up as he stood in the center, brandishing eight deadly-looking weapons from four different sets of arms. His mouth was set in a snarl, showing off rows of sharp teeth, while white eyes passed over the crowd to his opponent, who had just been shoved into the arena while the gates behind them loudly slammed shut. Small and shivering, there was little doubt that they would be annihilated shortly.

  
  


\-----

  
  


Arvaz had been dominating the arena, as expected, and was currently beating his his fifth opponent into submission. As was usually the case, none of the other fighters had done much to him, the few lucky blows that had been dealt being little more than scratches. The current fighter had charged at Arvaz, seeming to decide to risk everything for a chance of luck. Unfortunately for them, they seemed to have forgotten about Arvaz's tail, which had tripped them up and caught them.

Zarkon glanced over to the Ambassador while the crowd cheered. To his surprise, the pleasant smile he always wore was now nowhere to be seen. Instead, the Ambassador looked annoyed, with his eyebrows narrowed and his mouth set in a small frown. His hands were clasped in front of him, and an air of impatience surrounded him, as if he wanted this to be over with.

Arvaz threw his opponent across the arena and against the wall where they landed unmoving in a bloody heap, much to the delight of the eager spectators. As they cheered, Zarkon noticed the Ambassador's eyes narrow, and his frown deepen slightly.

The Ambassador's head suddenly snapped up as he looked at Zarkon. For a brief second, he looked panicked, as though he had been caught off-guard.

Zarkon had no time to say anything before the Ambassador's signature smile returned.

“He is quite an impressive fighter,” the Ambassador said. Zarkon only nodded, trying to analyze the Ambassador as he turned his attention back to the ring. A pleasant smile and eyes filled with interest, like there had been at the beginning of the night, watching a ring that held a man who now stood quietly, waiting for his next opponent. Unless the Ambassador had suddenly taken more of an interest in the fighter, he was trying far too hard to pretend that he was enjoying the event.

As much as Zarkon wanted to ask about it, in front of a crowd of spectators was not the place to do so. Zarkon also doubted that the Ambassador would be willing to admit to anything. At least, not easily.

He was about to turn his attention back to the arena when he heard the Reach's enforcer scoff.

“I can hardly believe this is your best fighter,” he said. “To defeat him would be a fairly simple.”

Zarkon looked back to the black armored warrior. Based on his posture, the warrior appeared to be bored, looking down at Arvaz with an unimpressed look.

“Dawur,” the Ambassador said, his tone warning. His demeanor remained relaxed, but his expression had gone back to one of irritation, and the air around him had changed once more. Something that seemed slightly dangerous.

Dawur clicked his tongue, but said nothing more.

“My apologies, Lord Zarkon,” the Ambassador now addressed him. “We did not mean any offense.”

“I do not mind,” said Zarkon. “Actually, this intrigues me.” Both the Ambassador and enforcer were looking at him now, the Ambassador with a smile that seemed more strained by the second, and the enforcer with a look of mild interest. “Tell me, warrior,” Zarkon continued, “if it is so simple to defeat Arvaz, then how would you do it?”

“He is blind,” Dawur said. There was no hesitation in his answer. “All one would have to do is be quiet and sneak up on him.”

“You noticed his blindness,” said Zarkon.

“It was most obvious in the third match: his opponent was staying quiet behind the pillar. Which was why they both stayed still for so long, the meat wasn't making enough noise for him to be able to find them.” The warrior looked out to the spectators. “They certainly don't help with the amount of noise they make.”

“Are they aware that he is blind?” the Ambassador cut in.

“No,” answered Zarkon. “According to the warden, they hadn't expected him to last longer than his first match. They weren't counting on his other senses to be so reliable.”

“Just fodder for your champion at the time,” said Dawur.

“Indeed,” said Zarkon, resting his jaw against his hand. “He has done well for himself, but it is only a matter of time before someone can figure out his weakness.”

Nothing else was said during their time at the event, and Arvaz went through five more opponents, none of whom came even close to beating him. Zarkon still looked over to the Ambassador from time to time, and while the Ambassador had on a neutral expression, there was no trace of the displeasure from before.

A gong sounded out when the last match ended, signaling the end of the fights. Arvaz stood in the center of the arena, roaring in triumph, and the crowd roared back in approval.

  
  


\-----

  
  


Based on the Ambassador's reaction to the matches, Zarkon had been certain that another invitation would have been met with a polite decline. That was what Zarkon expected when he asked the Ambassador to join him again.

“Of course, I would be delighted,” the Ambassador had answered. There was no trace of hesitation when he said this, and this time he knew full well what he was getting into. But he had still accepted. As he did the time after that, and the time after that, and every time Zarkon invited the Ambassador to join him as his guest.

Zarkon never caught him off guard like he had the first time, but the Ambassador never looked as though he was actually enjoying the matches. It was never outright displeasure, and the majority of the time the Ambassador kept a neutral face on, only breaking it to wince whenever there was something happening that he had a hard time looking at. Although the Ambassador was the leader of a fleet that had likely done brutal things in the past, he did not seem to care much for violence.

It did not help that, for whatever reason, Arvaz had become increasingly more brutal with his kills, making the other fighters suffer more before he would finally grant them the mercy of death. On one occasion, he ripped off the arms of his opponent and left them to bleed out. When Zarkon glanced over to the Ambassador, he was worried the Reach man was actually going to be ill, as his skin had paled considerably. Behind him, Zarkon had seen Dawur smirk as he also looked at the Ambassador, clearly delighting in the smaller man's reaction.

Something else that didn't happen again was the enforcer cutting in with his opinions. Dawur still accompanied the Ambassador to all of the matches, but didn't speak out again. It wasn't hard to guess why that had happened, as the second time the two men attended Zarkon had walked in just in time to hear the Ambassador hiss out the words “more respect” before he turned to greet the emperor. The enforcer had glared at the Ambassador the entire time that night.

Yet even with the increase in violence, the Ambassador would always come when Zarkon asked. It had gotten to the point where his presence was now expected, and his temporary seat that had been placed next to Zarkon's was now being left even when the arena was not in use.

  
  


\-----

  
  


It was a type of “down time” for the matches – they were running low on prisoners fit enough to fight, and while the Galra were fond of Arvaz, they would soon become bored if all they ever saw was him winning over and over again.

So there was no match to invite the Ambassador to at the end of their weekly meeting.

Perhaps it was because it was habit by now that Zarkon spoke after their business matters had concluded.

“Will you join me, Ambassador?” he asked. He realized the mistake as soon as he had spoken, and as the Ambassador looked back over to him, his mind scrambled to find a way he could get out of the situation without embarrassing himself.

“'Join you'?” the Ambassador repeated.

“On the observation deck,” said Zarkon. He wasn't entirely sure where that had come from, but it wasn't the worst thing he could have said.

The Ambassador smiled. “Of course.”

  
  


\-----

  
  


“If I may ask a question, Zarkon,” said the Ambassador. They had stood in silence for a few minutes after reaching the deck, simply looking out the window at the ships and stars beyond it.

“You may,” said Zarkon. He was grateful the Ambassador had said something, as the silence was starting to boarder on uncomfortable. Although he was the one who had brought them there, Zarkon had no idea what to say or do once they had arrived. Unlike the Ambassador, he was not at all prepared to be a host.

“Is there a reason as to why I have been your companion for these tournaments? Other than to showcase the Galra/Reach treaty, of course,” said the Ambassador.

“You think there is more to it than that?” asked Zarkon.

“I'm not sure,” said the Ambassador, “which is why I would like to know.”

“What makes you think there is any other reason?”

“The fact that you watch me more than you watch the actual fights, for one,” he said. “And for another, every time you've asked me to join you, you seem to be... _Expecting_ something from me.

Zarkon,” said the Ambassador. “Forgive me if I am presuming things, but lately it feels as though you have been purposefully trying to make me uncomfortable.”

“You are correct,” said Zarkon.

“You admit it?”

“There is no point in continuing a lie once it has been found out; would you not do the same?”

“I would not,” answered the Ambassador. “I would continue with the lie until I was able to convince whoever I was speaking to that the lie was the truth.”

“And what if you couldn't convince them?”

The Ambassador smirked. “That's what my enforcer is for,” he said. “However I do feel that we are getting off topic.”

“'Why are you trying to upset me?' Is that what you want to ask?” Zarkon said.

“More or less,” said the Ambassador.

“Why do you attend events you don't care for?” asked Zarkon.

The Ambassador gave a short laugh, prompting Zarkon to look over to him. “I can't decline an invitation from an emperor, now can I?” he said.

“So you attend because you feel forced to,” said Zarkon.

“I attend because it is my duty as an emissary for the Reach,” said the Ambassador. “I was told from the beginning that this position may place me in uncomfortable situations, but I still chose to be an ambassador. If attending bloodsports is what I must do, then so be it. I am hardly being 'forced', Zarkon.”

“Then this is simply another part of the job for you?”

“In a way.”

“Your dedication to the Reach is admirable.”

“We live to serve,” said the Ambassador, “even if it means allowing emperors to try and toy with us for their own amusement.”

“So now you've been  _ allowing _ me to toy with you?” Zarkon asked. Although he normally hid his emotions, he could not help the slight bit of amusement that slipped in his voice as he spoke.

The Ambassador chuckled, “perhaps you are correct in that respect. But it would have been difficult to  _ not _ be able to tell that you were up to something.”

“As you-”

Zarkon was interrupted by a series of electronic buzzes that were coming from the Ambassador's person, who reached inside his coat and pulled out what looked to be a sort of communicator. The Ambassador glanced briefly to Zarkon, who gave him a short nod. With the permission to answer granted, the Ambassador clicked one of the buttons, bringing up a projection of the Head Scientist.

“Forgive the interruption, Ambassador,” she said immediately. “But there is a communication from Homeworld that requires your attention.”

“Very well,” he answered, “tell them that I am on my way.”

The conversation was over as soon as it had started, and the Ambassador spoke as he tucked the communicator back into his coat.

“Forgive me, it appears I am needed elsewhere.”

“Of course,” said Zarkon.

The Ambassador placed a hand over his chest as he bowed and said “perhaps at some other time I will be able to make this up to you. I truly do enjoy our conversations.”

Zarkon needed to hold himself back from smiling, instead nodding once more and turning away. He listened as the Ambassador turned and began to walk to the door, the clicks of his heels echoing throughout the room.

Zarkon wasn't able to help himself, and before the Ambassador had reach the door, he found himself asking, “do you go so far for all of the emperors you meet?”

“Only the ones I like,” the Ambassador called back. There was then an abrupt stop to the sound of his footsteps, and when Zarkon looked back to him, he found the Ambassador was also staring back.

“I will admit that I was lying earlier,” he said. “When I said that I attended those matches with you because it was my duty.” A deviousness gleamed in his eyes as he continued “that is only  _ part  _ of the reason.”

Zarkon couldn't answer, and from the look of it, the Ambassador knew that was the case, as he turned away once again and back towards the door, wearing an amused smirk.

If there was anything Zarkon was sure of when it came to this man, it was that he truly loved having the last word.

 

**Author's Note:**

> For anyone who is confused: Dawur is Black Beetle, but since he wasn't called Black Beetle until he went to Earth in YJ, it didn't make sense to call him that (even though this is AU, it's still set before the Reach went to Earth).


End file.
